The year is 1962. The place is a pair of semi-detached villas in suburban housing development somewhere on the outskirts of pre-Swinging London. On the right-hand side lives a commercial traveller who secretly believes that the entire cast of That Was The Week That Was should be deported, while on the left resides a junior advertising executive who favours contemporary furniture and who regards David Frost as a dangerous rebel. In their respective driveways are parked a Ford Consul-Cortina De Luxe (better known simply as the Cortina Mk1) and a Morris 1100.

The idea for an ultra-modern, front-wheel-drive replacement for the Morris Minor was mooted as early as 1956 before Alec Issigonnis was re-assigned the task of producing a small vehicle which would rid the roads of Britain of all bubble cars. By the time of the Mini's launch in 1959, the plans for a larger stablemate applying the still startling engineering formula of front-wheel drive and in-sump gearbox to a four-/five-seater small family saloon were firmly in place. The new Morris, officially called ADO16 (Amalgamated Drawing Office project number 16), would also boast coachwork from Pininfarina that would appeal to affluent young motorists. The Morris 1100 was launched on August 1962 and such was the appeal of its crisp Italianate styling that it could have sold tens of thousands merely on the strength of its showroom appeal.

But those Farina lines masked the most advanced small family car in the world – a FWD Morris powered by a transversely located engine with front disc brakes, fluid Hydrolastic suspension and space for five adults in a vehicle less than 12 ½ feet in length. "Developed by the great Issigonis team that produced the Mini-Minors, it embodies much of the engineering magic of these fantastically successful cars," crowed the brochures with only moderate hyperbole. The Morris 1100 made British rivals such as the Triumph Herald 1200 look dated and overseas competitors such as the VW Beetle look prehistoric; within a year of its launch it was the best-selling car in Britain.

That same year, the chaps at Dagenham had launched an ultra-conventional car to fill the vacuum between the recently launched Anglia 105E and the soon-to-debut Consul-Classic. Work on Project Archbishop commenced in 1959 with the design brief of giving buyers optimum performance and economy at the lowest possible cost. Much of the running gear was from Ford GB's existing line-up and one early casualty of the limited budget was independent rear suspension.

Another, possibly more welcome, sacrifice was the 'breezeway' rear screen – the latter looked undeniably chic on the Anglia but moderately vile on the larger Consul Classic. The official reason for fitting the new Ford with a conventional rear window was that the sloping version made it look "too small" but in reality it would have given it the fake-American air of a pre-Beatles British rock and roll singer. In the event, the styling from Roy Brown was quite a triumph, giving the Cortina mid-Atlantic overtones, from the flattened rear fins to the tri-pod tail lamps, without making it so vulgar as to frighten the horses and the fleet managers.

This last detail was the result of a last minute intervention from Ford HQ in Dearborn, ordering that horizontal rear lights were now officially "out".

Another pre-launch change was the name – the Ford of Great Britain MD Patrick Hennessey allegedly favoured "Caprino" for the car until just before the launch when someone discovered that this was Italian slang for goat dung. It was a scenario that had all of the hallmarks of a 1962 vintage British comedy, preferably starring Raymond Huntley as the chief of Ford and Jim Dale as his bumbling assistant, and fortunately there was still time to re-name the Caprino after the host town for the 1956 Winter Olympics in Italy.

The Ford Consul-Cortina was launched in October 1962 as a two-door saloon and, compared with the £675 retail price of the Morris 1100, the base model retailed for a mere £639. The interior might not have been especially luxurious but any Cortina looked like a "proper car" from its long bonnet to its vast 20 cu ft boot. The Ford may have lacked the 1100's inherent sophistication but it was the same size as the more expensive Hillman Superminx and Austin A60 Cambridge and, thanks to a body designed on aviation principles, far lighter. It also boasted surprisingly entertaining road manners and for those customers prepared to endure minor drawbacks such as a dynamo that dimmed the headlamps when the wipers were turned on, the Consul-Cortina was a very desirable car. And for only £25 there was the De Luxe model with its decadent second sun visor.

In the UK the Morris 1100 regularly outsold the Cortina but its lack of development anticipated the debacle that would be British Leyland, not least because it was the BMC product that marked the nadir of the Corporation's sales policy. The original Austin-Morris merger had taken place in 1952 but separate dealerships still held sway and so badge engineering commenced only two months after the launch of the Morris with the twin carburettor MG derivative.

By 1963 the 1100 range had expanded to an Austin version and an admittedly magnificent Vanden Plas Princess flagship. With the addition of Riley and Wolseley derivatives two years later the 1100 was sold under no fewer than six marque names. Profits from Britain's most successful car were being dissipated by company politics and as for the car that the Morris 1100 was supposed to replace, the Minor continued in production until 1971. There also remained the fact that Ford's marketing was far superior to that of BMC, as famously seen with the Cortina "Glamcabs" in Carry On Cabby.

Ford also constantly developed the Cortina, quickly arriving at the conclusion that the nation's commercial travellers were overworking the 1.2-litre engine and so they deserved the Consul-Classic's 1,500cc in their Cortina Super (cigarette lighter as standard). In April 1963 Dagenham combined the larger engine with a Weber carburettor and Cosworth-designed camshaft to produce the Cortina GT, a sporting car that neither leaked nor froze the occupants in winter and quickly gained a reputation as a reasonably priced getaway car. As to the BMC model's engine developments, there was not even the option of 1.3-litre power until 1967 – a year after the introduction of the Cortina Mk2.

Both the Cortina Mk1 and the Morris 1100 are now rare sights on British roads, for one element they had in common was a remarkable propensity to rot. While the Ford represents the qualities of Dagenham at its best – a good looking, affordable car that offered highly enjoyable motoring – the brilliant Morris, one of the greatest family saloons ever made, epitomises the lost opportunities for the British motor industry. But 50 years ago, the possibilities for BMC seemed limitless.